<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Nascent Decadence by orphan_account</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26230279">Nascent Decadence</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Imperfect Shores [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works &amp; Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Asexual Relationship, Asexual whatevermance, Author is not a native English writer, Canon Shifters, Canon Telepathy, Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, Fealty, Fluff, Fánar ≠ Hröar, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magical Realism, Non-Sexual Submission, Not Beta Read, Other, Pining, Platonic Kissing, References to Depression, Spiritual, Submission, Supernatural Elements</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:08:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,173</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26230279</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Unable to die, secure in his faith, Eönwë has taken a certain habit of rushing into dangers.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eönwë &amp; Manwë Súlimo, Eönwë/Manwë Súlimo, Maia | Maiar/Vala | Valar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Imperfect Shores [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1905103</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Dramatic Redemption Stories, Intense Ace and Demiace Romances</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Knowledge of Power</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/4971427">Bind</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yavieriel/pseuds/Yavieriel">Yavieriel</a>.
        </li>

    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Eönwë's fëa flickers on, inside of the Elder King's spiritual mantel, it is still unconscious.</p><p>The way it pulses, helpless and frantic, attests to a violent end; and his consciousness is still frozen up from the shock of having its form literally torn away from him.</p><p>Only a few hours after Manwë has used his power to directly summon the largest maiarin fëa of his House to him, the news of the death of his Herald was already beginning to spread around Valinor. Ainurin communication doesn't care for distance and they mingle with the Children...with them, information running its course is ineluctable.</p><p>Not that it really matters; for now, the Incarnates' politics are only third to the Elder King's concern.</p><p>For a few seconds, he feels the wild pulse of the alarmed core, just as he sees the color of its rounded raiment fluctuate... That is, until the fëa becomes aware of his embrace, and registers the identity of the one who holds him.</p><p>Manwë let a reassured shimmer ripple through his fána.</p><p>However disoriented, the fëa recognizes his Vala's touch... The oaths they have Sung together made matter and energy; the powerful link that marks his Herald, is as strong as ever.</p><p>Tentatively, the fëa opens up, allowing his Vala to begin infusing it directly, letting the stronger power heal it from the inside out.</p><p>Soon, its hesitation is gone; it surges forth and press onto the larger mass of Manwë's fána, close enough to be magnetized to the buzz of his raw valarin energy... Only there and then does its alarm minutely make place for relief, its color cooling off a few shades.</p><p>The Lord of The Breath calls forth a low chant of healing to occupy himself and shares it in the clear refined precision of their ósanwe... both to console the helpless and shapeless prone form of his Maia, coaxing it to stay open as he feed it with new energy, and to persuade it to remain still as patient, while he let his Vala conduct the meld. <em><strong>"You are safe, </strong>Urion.<strong> You are home;"</strong></em> and as he quietly sings, he molds his voice to be warmer, wholesome.</p><p>His nurturing skills possess neither the resiliency and delicateness of Irmo's, nor the swift precision of Vairë's; but the technique he has chosen has an empirical efficiency. Indeed, for a Maia who wears part of his energy inside their core, there is no more potent and efficient way of healing than the ófea; the merging of spirit, a raw sharing of life force.</p><p>Yet, if there is no more powerful mean of healing in the Song than ófea, there is no more dangerous one, either.</p><p>Even after so many yéni, Manwë can't help but watch the small spirit in his arms with a measure of awe...just as he keeps it from surging deeper into his fána, maintaining it barely merged with his.</p><p>
  <em>You would lose yourself, Urion mine. You know better. Neither of us want to see your assimilated. First because I need you, and your men do too. Second, because I don't want Ilmarë to maim me.</em>
</p><p>Eönwë can't respond, but his fëa gradually settles down; it only pushes now and then against his Vala's raiment to drink on its energy and hide himself from the hazards and pains of the world.</p><p>This display of self-restrain instills pride in Manwë's heart.</p><p>Even the base of active consent that is needed for fëar to become permeable; due to their terrible consequences, and the pleasant trance they induce; these joining are a matter of gravity, a testimony of dedication and infinite trust, used only between Ainur who feel the need to unite officially and Maiar who pledge themselves in servitude to their Valar.</p><p>The most brief slip of control can result in deep alteration of their cores, and for smaller fëar, not only the definite loss of free will, as was risk for ósanwe, but of individuality altogether; leaving nothing but a thrall, a smaller version of themselves that would feel drawn to them again and again finding only at peace when merged with their other half; their personality then completely and ultimately overridden...</p><p>Any Ainu intuitively <em>knows</em> that overriding a fëa feel as painful to the All-Father as a direct blow; and feels inherently <em>wrong</em>...disregarding how the smaller fëa's consent has been gotten, the idea itself feels like one of the worst possible crimes.</p><p>Out of this primal dread, the Valar have taken an infinite amount of measures to prevent that fate to befall their Maiar or their spouses. Even more, in the dreaded eventuality of those not being enough, they take time to imprint the structure of the fëa's spirit and personality as an isolated memory, safely kept somewhere else in themselves to be able to cancel what has been done, to <em>restore</em> the Maia before the override can touch their core.</p><p>It is for these reasons, that Maiar lovers are strongly encouraged to have their first union supervised by stronger and trusted relatives, and preferably, by their Vala themselves.</p><p>These cautions have always been enough to ensure that the two fëar would never merge beyond the threshold they had beforehand decided on. Ófear that includes Maiar are still dreaded and usually postponed by many Valar, usually when they didn't just delegate to Irmo. Still, they were those believed that avoiding practice was only making them more susceptible to irreversible blunders...</p><p>Steadily, Manwë feeds the smaller fëa, making sure to erase his influence from the raw, fizzing energy before he feed it to the diminished core, letting it use it as it needs it most. Before his touch, his Herald regrows himself into cohesive sentience.</p><p>As other Aratar, the Lord of the Breath can draw effortlessly from the threads of Eä that The One had sung himself. In that way, they are slowly able to regain the full capacity of his own energy, as long as no other Power hinders them.</p><p>The responsibilities of an ófea with a <em>barely conscious Maia</em> can be crushing and terrifying. Though, he suspects they are all past that kind of sensibilities. Two wars, the odd fight against void intruders, the vain search for Ungoliant; theirs limitations and failings have taught most of them something of humility but also temperance and steadfastness.</p><p>Since he had not favored healing in his contributions to the Song, Manwë Súlimo had to learn the mastery of that art as much as possible within the restrictions of Eä. Ófea <em>is</em> the most efficient solution to heal vassal Maiar...as much as it is an exhausting work of minutia demanding both his patience, his concentration and a serious amount of empathy.</p><p>But the practice of this art is not only his role, it also is his privilege and <em>pride</em> to thank the Maiar who serves his domain; the meeker Ainur who have put enough trust in him as to bind their soul to his name in indenture... Still, he can't help being surprised by the peace that he finds in a task so dangerous.</p><p>(He double checks his feelings, in case that the trance of the merging might have confused him. Has he let himself grow careless, too secure in his practice? But no, that peace is deep, clear, invigorating; and he knows it to be real...)</p><p>The cathartic process itself echoes on his <em>sanwë</em>, and he let himself enjoy the presence of this particular Maia who carry his mark.</p><p>Yes. However tiny as he looks, bundled neatly into his mantel, <em>Eönwë</em> has always comforted him... His valiant and generous herald has not only enhanced his confidence as he has ruled along the Ages; his silent presence, in might and discipline, have also filled him with a warm sense of safety even before they are entered Eä; even before he had chosen to pledge himself to him as his Maia.</p><p>Pride, protectiveness and love both dance in his heart as he focuses his divine energy into raw wavelengths of compassion for the trusting fëa resting on his lap.</p><p>Yet...</p><p>However pleasant the moment is, its necessity is testimony to a hurtful tragedy: his Herald, <em>his Urion</em>, has fallen.</p><p>Once more.</p><p>...The King of Valinor stifles a new ripple in the even and ordered energy waves of his core.</p><p>Yet another large, mighty creature intruded into the Song.</p><p>As countless others have done, along yéni of Ages, as long as ainurin memory went, it had come from the Void for its own reasons, and become a dangerous hole in the Music...</p><p>From some other Maiar; from a lesser strategist, or a warrior lacking discipline, Manwë could have expected hazardous outcomes from a fight of this magnitude. His Herald, however, is no <em>reckless</em> youth and <em>chance is not involved when the Singers of Ea send an envoy to adjust a minor inconvenience</em>.</p><p>The rekindling of their ósanwe, one of the many consequences of their roles, tells the Vala that his precious ward is partially conscious, now.</p><p>Still, neither share in thoughts yet; and without ósanwe, ófea is vague, its rawness ill-fitted to communicate precise, ordered notions. (They don't need more yet; their fëar fused up to the threshold of their common truths and shared traits of character.)</p><p>For now, Manwë doesn't inquire about the fight, neither does he comment on having his Chief Maia, the most skilled weapon master of Arda falter from a singular fight for the fourth time in a yén...</p><p>Silently, he just holds the vulnerable essence of his Herald against his chest, and their ósanwe, empty.</p><p>They are alone, away from the Children's eyes, and Manwë feels secure in the fact that his old friend will regain his full powers without any kind of loss.</p><p>And so, at least, the Vala unwinds the energy dedicated into holding his fána solid... and let his arms fade into ethereal tendrils of glowing wisps.</p><p>Manwë's feelings of affection and worry coexist without warring; the silence and the mystery doesn't grow them in intensity; they remain equal through the passing of Valian Hours...</p><p>He listens to the Maia's pulse, and feels it shimmer, bask in valarin energy - all high waves and harmonious vibes.</p><p>In sanwë and fëa alike; with the swiftness and efficacy of a natural and well-practiced dance; they touch, align, and harmonize themselves as Lord and Maia.</p><p>Soon enough, a surge of grateful contentment colors Manwë's raiment: the fëa in his arms has recovered enough to project a new fána - albeit an unsubstantial one. He knows the exact moment when Eönwë is able to hold himself, turn solid, or even to take a shape.</p><p>But his Maia remains idle in his arms, so the Lord of The Breath plays along, and keeps him coddled tight.</p><p>Trough ósanwe, he feels the blush of his Maia; a sweet low-key buzz that he pretends not noticing; even as it warms him with a satisfaction that he had not felt in many yéni. And, as Valian Hours passes in this manner, his Maia's sheepishness changes into open gratefulness and content abandon.</p><p>He sends only a single commend to his ward, the one is precious to him beyond word: <em>stay, rest without care or worry; your duties to the Song and to your ainur all are mine, for now</em>.</p><p>For long, floating over the floor of their domain, they let themselves drift slowly in the careful merging of spirits. And when Manwë feels another Ainu ascend the palace, the interruption feels almost unwelcome, too soon.</p><p>In the Music of his Domain, he recognizes the Chief servant of his spouse.</p><p>Ilmarë does the polite thing and broadcast herself long before entering the throne room. Her gesture is both a salute and a request; and suddenly Manwë feels her and her need to see her other half, the Ainu whom she loves as a part of herself... Seconds later, she is in the hall, in presence, facing him. Her proud figure is cast in the rays of Arien's waning light, beneath the tall glittering monochrome of the large blue stained Mithril.</p><p>She only gives the obeisance expected in the presence of another Aratar; he is not a King tonight, with his closest relatives.</p><p>Small, graceful, proud, stubborn... Ilmarë knew of Eönwë's state even before she came. But<em> she needed to come, to see for herself that her soulmate is safe and well-cared for; to get the assurance of his imminent and complete recovery</em>...</p><p>For this, she is always welcome.</p><p>She smiles, eyes ablaze, her mind a song of relief and thankfulness; but Manwë can see the subtle lined of frustration and forlorness on her otherwise young face.</p><p>Eventually she bows again to salute the lord of her lover - longer this time; until the Vala returns her salute with an acknowledging nod.</p><p>She leaves.</p><p>For a moment, it is the two of them again; Maia and Vala, caught in an embrace as ancient as natural in the Song's design, older still, beyond time and space and Eä's rules...</p><p>But before long, it is his Chief steward who touches his sanwë, requesting and announcing his arrival. Foresight tells him that Frimmes's arrival preludes the end of the moment of intimacy shared with his oldest Maia.</p><p>.</p><p>Were they not linked directly through their fëa, the ósanwe would still have given Eönwë notice of it. To the Maia, it feels like only hours have passed. A moment ago, he was fleeing from his body, abandoning it to the wounds taken from the giant void beast. and already Taniquetil needs him to resume his role. He swallows a sight and rises from the arms of his lord.</p><p>Lord Manwë inquires about his well-being. — He dismiss his Vala's worry and his eventual offer both. His lord has healed him and he needs nothing more. Days-off could do him no good; his fëa was forged for work, and <em>working</em> is what fills him with peace.</p><p>Mostly.</p><p>Eönwë focus his newfound energy into matter, shapes it from memory.</p><p>The form stretches, curl and mold into that of an tall child of Ingwë, endowed with his beloved powerful and huge white eagle wings...</p><p>Still facing the chief steward of Oiolossë, he tries to consolidate this draft of this new fána. He is at his usual size; two foot taller than Frimmes, yet still easily dwarfed by the Vala behind him, patiently watching over the process. He finds himself struggling and remembers that his strength is still recovering.</p><p>His Vala softly brushes against his mind as a soothing caress, a blooming offer. After a moment of stubborn effort, Eönwë reluctantly accepts that he is stuck. As a condensed vertical cloud floating idly, he send his agreement — and his polite request for help. (The blur of its features increases from his embarrassment as Lord Manwë glides closer behind him.)</p><p>The mantle of power of his lord parts to envelop him and he ignores the protest of his pride as he yield full control on his fana to his Vala. Thick, wholesome, refreshing valarin energy course him to consolidate the shape he had begun to built.</p><p>His reluctance is weak-willed and only last so long. Wisdom and trust are made so that his fighting skill only let him revel more in the feelings of this intimate submission to the Ainu who owns his fëa.</p><p>Without any reaction to his thoughts, his lord stays focused on shaping the details of his fána; working him from the inside out, with the signature love and tenderness that often lid the mantle of his raw energy.</p><p>When <em>he</em> put the final touches to his definition and retreats <em>his</em> energetic mantle, Eönwë's heart sighs from the loss. He turns around to thank <em>him</em> properly, and instead, can't help beaming up at <em>him</em>, his heart too full to devise words.</p><p>.</p><p>And no words are needed between Ainur of the same House.</p><p>Eönwë's gratefulness flows wholesome and unbidden through the spiritual channel that binds him to the Vala of The Breath, and an old, familiar awe resurges again, warm, loving, scented like toasted wheat grains, leaving the taste of a sweet and round wine...</p><p>And yet, here again, Manwë also feels something different in the mind of his ambassador: like a dot of silence, a mute hole. (In this, the Ainu recognizes a closed mental door. Even though his own mind betray nothing of the concern it brings yet.) For now, his Herald's body stand solid, fully detailed, and the Elder King feels his patience rewarded.</p><p>He returns Eönwë's smile, slides a conniving glance down at his second Chief Maia with an acknowledging tilt of his head. A second brief and satisfying exchange in ósanwe later, at least, Manwë turns away, leaves his two Maiar to their duties.</p><p>Peaceful, in ample movements, he glides to the dais where his and his soulmate's thrones stand. There he takes seat and blinks himself towards the wide open balcony. The King of the Powers of Arda, he once again spreads his View to Endórë. His Sight is already covering far beyond Taniquetil when Eönwë and Frimmes eventually bows to take their leave. His dear herald almost jolts out of his shape when he softly thinks his name out in ósanwe.</p><p>
  <em>'We must and will discuss what you have done to your fána...thrice.'</em>
</p><p>In the span of a heartbeat, Eönwë knows his shame exposed.</p><p>
  <em>'Yet, every topic has a right time and place.'</em>
</p><p>He can't help but curl his mind down, closing further from his Lord's reach despite himself before he blinks himself away. Swallowing on a lump of dread and regret he nods in ósanwe.</p><p>
  <em>'Aye, my Lord.'</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Courage to Dare</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The following evening, when Manwë tugs on his mind at the beginning of the first night shift, Eönwë <em>is</em> expecting the summon. Still, the gentle pull jolts him and a distress crawls up and consummates him whole. Reluctantly, unsure and afraid, the Maia wills himself to appear beside of his Lord in Ilmarin.</p><p>He solidifies his fána, touches foot to the marble floor and pauses behind the doors of the room where his lord awaits; as has been the custom for Ainur since Oiolossë— their Domain, settled on the top of the tallest mount of Aman— began to receive recurring visits from Ingwë's people.</p><p>Here, he takes a breath, let the air cool his senses, and calmly forces the outer edges of his mind open again…but under duress of anxiety, the task demands too much focus and, shamefully, he gives up. He almost wishes for the earth to open up and swallow him whole on that moment.</p><p>Instead, he can only sigh. Yes, he might, just might, have taken a certain habit of rushing into danger. This might also have sometimes amounted to flirting with death— or as close to death as Ainur can be brought...</p><p>Perhaps, just perhaps that the thrill of the risk and the safety of his faith have gotten him... somewhat <em>addicted</em> ...to the direct and intimate summons that brings him home, directly into the girdle of his Lord, his ever-beloved liege.</p><p>The selfishness of it all certainly makes him feel perverse, little more than a shackle in these times of peace in his Vala's house.</p><p>When he finds the courage to enter despite of his state, he finds his Lord waiting in a smaller room, his tall fána facing against the winds of a tall lidless window. The blue tinted glass draws itself, already solid and real, muting the continuous sound of birdsong. All of the winds fall into the room.</p><p>"Eönwë."</p><p>He bows slowly; drawing on time and still hoping against all logic, that the familiarity of the gesture might help his anxiety to abate a little.</p><p>"Step forth," the Vala encouraged. "I find myself unable to understand a few elements in your last missions. And I would like to understand your deeds."</p><p>It didn't.<em><br/></em>After a moment of hesitancy, his fána briefly rippling with renewed apprehension, he takes two steps toward his Vala.</p><p>"What do you want to know, my Lord?" His mind is frozen, his lips dry.</p><p>When Manwë turns around, the regal stance of the King is no more, in its place, it is the Ainu who sets his cerulean expectations on him (and somehow, they feel even heavier).</p><p>A communicative worry shadows his Vala's features and his expression retains few traces its usual soothing quality.</p><p>"Eönwë... After the last missions, by the time you left us to deal with the beast you had caught, your fána ended up exhausted. To the point that you had to let it vanish, struggling not to diminish in fëa even!</p><p>"Did we send you out on your own to catch Void Intruders? That scorpion who hid in the confines to Arda and destroyed a celestial mass. Didn't I imbue you with a seventh of my Power before you went to defeat and fetch it? ...</p><p>"<em>Eönwë... </em>You have accomplished your task. Lady Varda and Lord Námo have thrown it out."</p><p>Manwë took another step next to him and searched his eyes.</p><p>"Your help, in repelling stranger entities, just as in everything I assigned you to, has been priceless and capital."</p><p>The Vala takes slow steps around of the smaller winged figure standing before him.</p><p>"Still, each of these beasts were made of different matters, different energies; their might varied from one to another. And, from the start of this yén, in each of your three last encounters, you ended up deeply damaged.</p><p>"Each of these times...you have burnt most of your Power— <em>of my Power</em>— away," the Maia falls to his knees at his lord's feet, frozen with shame, "<em>and</em>, you have left your guard completely open for them."</p><p>The silence that fills the space between them feels almost solid.</p><p>"I sense you as you fight, <em>Urion,</em>" his Vala reminds him and the words are without a single trace of judgment, but <em>what did you think?</em> hovers; unsaid, un-thought, and more so loud in the Maia's imagination.</p><p>There is only silence for a while.<em><br/></em>Eönwë remembers the first time he was hurt direly enough for his fëa to diminish. He had been taught about the fate of the Ainur upon their demise, and just like most warriors, has been privy to that event countless times himself... Too many to fear it anymore.</p><p>Honestly, what reason did he have to when he could go to find Estë and the Fëanturi at any time if he needed healing? There were over ten Powers who could back his fights if something really dangerous threatened Arda; six of them he trusted with his fëa, and their elected King was the one he answered to.<em><br/></em>They were at peace.</p><p>No, in all truth, he didn't really think.<em><br/></em>Or rather, he didn't really think that the Elder King would care to remember four of his fights, to analyze them and find time to question him. He didn't think that his Vala could or would spare any more time on him that he had in the last busy tenths of yéni spent in Aman.</p><p>They are at peace, and Endor's short-term struggles is now in the concern of mortals...but many of The Powers are still occupied with recovering their forces, and it will take long before his own Lord finds the full possession of his abilities again— enough to feel the need to Sing, to Create new lasting Wonders for Arda and beyond, at least.</p><p>Eönwë gropes for an answer. <em>Any, now.</em> He considers using the size of the last monster as an excuse, but he can't bring himself to take a bet, and even less to insult his master's wit.</p><p>"With my utmost respect, in full honesty; my Lord and King, these beings who tear the Veil and leave the Void are greater dangers that most we have faced, second only to the one the Quendi call Ungoliant... Besting them demands the most of my energy and abilities..." he begins nonetheless, intent on developing—</p><p>"This is the reason for which The Wrestler places his Maiar under your command while he sleeps," Manwë's voice is the soft, silken caress of a spring breeze, and yet it is relentless, insistent, <em>ineluctable</em>. (Well, the interruption allows him the time to gather more courage, even as it somewhat hurts his pride.)</p><p>"...However you are right, Your Majesty. I would have been foolish to try to hide from you. I..." he drew on his breath, "am your blessed servant."</p><p>"And yet you keep yourself close."</p><p>"That is only because I'm afflicted with...a stubborn sort of shame," he confessed quickly, almost on a whisper.</p><p>.</p><p>The impersonal title, used like a shield by his Maia feels like a wall between them. It almost burns against Manwë's spirit, and the feeling comes with a surprising tenacity.</p><p>"Shame? Why," he asks, his voice not quite wavering even if it is is heavy with mounting sadness.</p><p>The kneeling Maia lowers himself further on the ground, almost prostrate, and his fána coursed by a mute shudder. "I would loath to disturb you, my Lord. I should be of help to you, and not adding to your burdens."</p><p>Manwë pursues his lips and crosses his arms, focusing on tuning his fána to forget the pain he feels from hearing of his Herald's distrust.</p><p>"Here we are, however." He shook his head; "you <em>never</em> added to my burdens. Taking care of you, as always been a privilege. ...Don't you see that?</p><p>"Right now, I would want to know what causes you enough shame that you would recoil from me," he states patiently, and the powerful innocence of his voice almost hurts. "Tell me what you did to feel that. I want to help."</p><p>But the silence remains.</p><p>At long last, his expression wilts and he avoid the eyes of his Herald. The ripple of his larger fána and the dimming light shining through it must has become hard to watch because Eönwë lowers his own eyes in turn; and for one second, the Maia seems not to know what to do. He looks surprised and unwilling to speak out of turn. And this, then, is when Manwë feels hurt.</p><p>The faint words cut through his sanwë long before they leave his mouth:</p><p>"Are you afraid of me, Eönwë?"</p><p>.</p><p>The Maia feels frozen. He barely schools himself not to blush from the amount of shame.</p><p>"No." He takes slow breath and blinks, pained, hesitant. And he isn't, he isn't.</p><p>...He had never personally feared Manwë. Not before that one time when he had teased him and basically asked for a punishment, anyway. Manwë had never hurt him in any way since, either.<em><br/>Never knowingly.)</em></p><p>"I...only have your words to work with, Eönwë. Please, tell me you are not lying for my sake."</p><p>And this is it.</p><p>"I had never lied to you, my lord." As far as he remembers, he did withhold tiny pieces of information to keep his spouse and a few friends' secrets. But never in the line of his duty, never when answered directly.</p><p>Manwë looks at him, and for one moment, Eönwë let a wave of self-hatred seize and burn his fëa raw.<br/>The only times he saw his lord look so vulnerable were when caught by surprise by very precise memories. <em>The Lamps, the Trees, Fëanor, his brother..., the Children he had disfigured— those he did after he has personally set him free, the fëar he had seduced from his own house.</em>..</p><p>The Vala dejectedly shakes his head, his voice small.</p><p>"I know. You have very rarely closed your mind from me."</p><p>He closes the distance between them and looks over his Maia with such tenderness that Eönwë shudders again in his fána.</p><p>"Which is why your reluctance to speak to me worries me. Please tell me why you let your fána and fëa be hurt so? If you don't want to put words on it, would you bear the shame long enough to <em>show</em> me, instead?"</p><p>"For greed," my Lord, he blurts in one stand, unable to bear having his lord feel the shame that was wearing on him. "I have grown greedy through these Ages."</p><p>.</p><p>Here is the answer, at last, although it is one that makes the Elder King pause. Manwë lowers his voice, thoroughly puzzled, but worry still laces his words when he inquires further.</p><p>"<em>What</em>...could you be greedy for, Urion mine?"</p><p>The Chief Maia sighs and thin his lips, grimly. His lord's stubborn obliviousness could have felt amusing (if it had not caused so much gri— if it had not grown painful along the years, he thought, catching himself). Beside of their mutual affection, he had always admired Manwë, and even through the trials that living caught in the Song had brought, he has never be hard to feel respect for his Vala.<br/>He sighs inwardly, defeated and exasperated with himself.</p><p>"For you, my Lord."</p><p>And just so simply, Eönwë can't shudder, can't sense, can't move anymore; the only thing that registers through the fog of his shame renewed is his lord's silence.</p><p>"I... I wanted more...time."</p><p>The tall, luminescent semi solid fána of Manwë stands frozen by confusion, the gusts of wind that were feed by his will stop playing on his robes and hair. When he breaks out of his shock, he immediately kneels to take his ward by the shoulders and, belatedly, rises him up, relieved that his ambassador hasn't done any other wrong. (Devising a fair punishment to his most devoted vassal is not exactly the most enjoyable way of spending his evenings.) However,</p><p>"Time..." is the only thing that Manwë finds to say, as he considers his ambassador's admission and the lengths he went to borrow...just one Valian Hour of his <em>time</em>.</p><p>"I haven't... been often... There are many things we haven't done since the Premises of The Song, hasn't it..."</p><p>... Eönwë doesn't know what to say.</p><p>ºHe hurt and sacrificed three fánar to get <em>attention</em> from his valarin Lord, he suddenly realizes, mortified.</p><p>O-of course, hewaited to make <em>sure</em> that the Ainur under his command were safe and would win! But <em>why</em> does he keep behaving like a child whenever his Vala is in the picture? Is this truly his fate? Being a shackle, a weight on his lord's shoulder when his only purpose in existence was to <em>serve</em> him?</p><p>"I have hoped that it would eventually stop of its own if given time. It...was stupid. My lord there is no word—"</p><p>"I need something from you."</p><p>He actually stuttered. "Yes, my Lord Manwë?"</p><p>"I still would really like you to let me feel it for myself."</p><p>For the thousandth time now, Eönwë's fána ripples. In one second, the blurring spreads from his cheeks to his shoulders.</p><p>"Feel what?"</p><p>"Your greed," Manwë answers so easily and innocently. As if it wasn't a stain to his name.</p><p>There is no feeble protest in the Maia retort, this time; but a fierce, unmovable finality:</p><p>"I can't, my lord!"</p><p>Manwë blinks, his silver brows creasing thoughtfully, adorning a look of faint concern. His ambassador has very rarely refused him anything, even before he had pledged himself in fealty to his service. Instead of letting the shock of his answer bring his heart astray, he only let it reflect in a risen brow.</p><p>As usual, little more was needed to call his responsible Maia to his senses.</p><p>"I <em>need</em> to know what you miss," he explained, and this time, he infused a lining of power in his voice: "it is my duty to take care of you. That care includes your feelings, <em>Urion</em>. If you don't want to share by ósanwe, then, will you tell me with your voice?"</p><p>"As-as you wish."</p><p>.</p><p>
  <em>Long and fast aimless flights together, solid kisses, being allowed to bring gifts to his lord, being notified when his lord set to rest so that he could find him in fána and rest with him, deeper, fiercer ósanwe, ...perhaps celebrating their first Oath in presence?</em>
</p><p>Eönwë doesn't know where to begin, and can't imagine himself giving these desires away.</p><p>He tries to decide on the least embarrassing one but his heart disagrees, they are all important to him, to share any with hid Vala again feels like a petty but wondrous dream...</p><p>He hesitantly chooses a few to expose to his lord and hesitantly open his sanwë to reveal them.</p><p>"Are those all, my bird?"</p><p>With a growing blush, grudgingly, he admits to the rest.</p><p>"Oh, Eönwë..." His Vala lets his arms fall apart and Eönwë sees the pity that he dreaded so now rising in <em>his</em> large clear blue eyes.</p><p>"You need not apprehend these desires any more than you should keep them secret. For all of your knowledge and might, you remain a <em>Maia</em>."</p><p>"But we're no longer the young and carefree spirits who played in The One's Halls. These wishes..." he sighed deeply; "are immature, selfish ones."</p><p>"Yet, it is only by The One's will, that you would want to seek company and intimacy from the Ainu you serves. The strongest allegiances depend on trust and love.</p><p>"You have sworn your fëa in servitude, made <em>me</em> its rightful owner, <em>for as long as you trust me. </em>These needs, that cement the functions and roles of our Orders, <em>will never be called selfish.</em> I will make time to honor them, not only because it pertains to my honor, but also because I would greatly enjoy to spend more private time with you, <em>Urion</em>..."</p><p>The Vala kneels by the shorter Ainu and coaxed his fána up, cradling his chin when they both stood together.</p><p>"How will you find time, my Lord Manwë... Constantly I feel the weight of your worries about the Song in your mind... Here we are all slaves to time... It seems to me that you can barely find any for yourself."</p><p>"I will manage. Do you truly think that these wishes you expressed can be accounted as work? ... Ah Little Star, Urion mine, ever so responsible, even so stern..."</p><p>And Eönwë understands that it was not pity that he had caught in Manwë's eyes, but raw empathy; mirroring his own pain.</p><p>As the Vala's larger fingers caress his cheekbones, <em>his</em> mind brushes his with the gentlest of touches; a meek request.</p><p>The Maia only hesitates so much. He opens himself fully to his Lord's care and closes his eyes as Manwë touches his lips to the low of his forehead with an affection so fierce that it feels crushing. He can't keep the tears from running along his temples now— he realizes, just then, that he has repressed them for too long.</p><p>Just by opening chosen parts of his sanwë deeper, he shows his lord the depth of his remorse, the sorrow that he felt for using His Powers to fight without respect of his foes...and of himself.</p><p>But at this, his Vala only looks sadder.</p><p>
  <em>'It seems that...neglect, of my part, has driven you to a morbid penchant... Reinforced it, even, throughout the last yén... Oh I should be the one to apologize, little bird! Will you forgive me?'</em>
</p><p><em>But—</em> He is no this young anymore. Along the Ages of Endórë, he has warred against his own kind, killed countless living creatures, and shared the pains of both body and heart that often befall the Children's. Even if he wears a fána, sometimes, the weight of his deeds is etched in a few thinning wrinkles in his face... He is a Chief Maia, of the House of the King of Arda ! He should know <em>better</em>. He should be <em>stronger</em>. He can't be seen like a child- he can't...</p><p><em>'No, indeed.' </em>Manwë lowers his fána to touch his lips to his— a token of their spiritual connection and trust. <em>'You are no child.'</em></p><p>If anything, this easy show of acknowledgment and kinship shushes the Maia for good.</p><p>'<em>And, the next time you may feel tempted to shred your fána, I know that you will remember this. Instead, you will come to me and we will find time together. I trust you, Eönwë,' </em>he sent his thoughts like a murmur. <em>'</em><em>But no matter how dependable and wise you become, you will always remain my precious Star, my fiercest Urion...'</em></p><p>When the Elder King embraces him again, keeping him flush against his heart, running his hands against his smaller scalp, Eönwë surrenders the last of his mind, open and bare to <em>his</em> molding touch; embracing the risks of a full ófea with a much larger Flame.</p><p>Minutely, he loses part of his shape, allows himself the pleasure of melting into the immense, majestic, vertiginous <em>powerful</em> fëa of his Vala. The merging scorches his mind, blurs his senses. He abandons concerns and will altogether to the bliss and the tempting danger, reveling in the blurring of selves between Ainur of different Orders, eyes lost in an unseen distance, his forgotten fána disrobing and falling around of him...</p><p>This time, at least, the Maia is awake and strong; and this time, he feels truly whole.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>